Oblivious
by RenKain
Summary: In which Simmons is oblivious, and Grif gets the wrong idea. Rated for swears and some brief adult themes. VERY CLEAR WARNING: Slash-y
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Yes, I've jumped on the Grimmons bandwagon. Deal with it. This was partly inspired by all of Safety-Hazard-XDLOL's pretty pictures on deviantArt, which every Grimmons lover should go check out. Hop to it.

Second part should be out soon ;)

Obligatory Disclaimer: I do not own Red vs Blue, that honor belongs solely to Rooster Teeth.

* * *

Simmons sat on the very end of the couch in Red base's rec room, staring stubbornly at the large flat screen television in front of him. "Stop it."

"Stop what?" Donut, perched as close to Simmons as he could possibly get without actually sitting on the other man's lap, shrugged one shoulder carelessly.

"Stop. It." Simmons repeated.

"I'm not doing anything."

"Yes you are. Stop it."

Donut sighed dramatically and leaned back a little. "Why won't you just say it?"

"Because there's nothing to say!" Simmons snapped, standing from the couch very suddenly and sending Donut tumbling back onto one elbow. He stalked away, toward the door, and turned back around half way instead. "It was nothing," he sighed. He ran one hand through his hair in a frustrated/tired gesture.

Donut righted himself and gave Simmons a long, hard look. "I don't believe that," he stated firmly. "And I don't think you do, either." He waited for a reply, and when the other Red soldier continued to stand where he was and stare at the wall, pressed on. "So…?"

"I…don't know," Simmons admitted. "I have no idea…what was he _thinking_?"

"I know what he was thinking," Donut flicked his blonde bangs from his eyes with a wicked little grin.

"Donut…" Simmons warned.

"Alright, alright," the lightish-red soldier relented at his teammate's strained look and patted the cushion beside him in invitation. "I'm sorry, I'll be serious."

Simmons shot him a dubious look before finally giving in and throwing himself into the small space between Donut and the arm of the couch. He leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, scrubbing furiously at his face with a low groan.

"You know, if you keep making those sounds even _I_ might be tempted to-"

"Donut!"

"Okay! Fine!"

"What are you doing in here anyway?" Simmons demanded waspishly. "Shouldn't you be out on patrol or something?"

"It's _raining_, Simmons," Donut responded in his best 'duh' voice. "I don't want my armor to get rusty." He turned himself sideways on the couch and folded his thin legs underneath him. "Besides, you're avoiding the subject."

"There's no subject," Simmons argued.

"Grif just kissed you not twenty minutes ago," Donut said very bluntly. "I'd say that qualifies as a 'subject'."

"Yeah," Simmons agreed quietly, still leaning on his elbows and staring at the floor. "Yeah, he did. And I still can't believe I told you that, by the way."

Donut ignored the comment and leaned forward, eyes shining with interest. "And? What did you do?"

"…Nothing," Simmons shook his head. "I couldn't do anyth- OW! _Why are you hitting me_?"

"Idiot!" Donut all but shrieked, giving Simmons' shoulder another solid whack. "You've been moping after him for _years_, always trying to get his attention, always trying to get a reaction and you finally _get one_, and you do _nothing_? _What. The. Hell. Is. Wrong. With. You?_" The furious blonde punctuated each word with another slap to Simmons' person, forcing the much taller man into the corner of the couch and ignoring the fact that it was Simmons' cyborg arm he was currently beating. His hand was going to hurt like a bitch in the morning, but Donut found it difficult to care about that at the moment.

"Ow! Stop that- Donut!" Simmons reached around with his biological arm to shove Donut away from his metal left side, not wanting the younger soldier to hurt himself no matter how crazy he was being just then. "Okay, just sit down and- stop hitting me!" Simmons finally resorted to grabbing Donut by both shoulders and forcing him backward, losing his balance in the process and nearly crushing the petite blonde. He raised himself onto one arm and glared down at his attacker. "What the hell's gotten into you?"

Donut had fallen back onto the couch with an angry huff, making his bangs flutter around his flushed face, and glared right back at Simmons. "What's gotten into _me_?" he repeated. "What's gotten into _me_, Simmons, is that I am so _sick_ of all the sexual tension in this base! Seriously, I could cut it with a _spoon_!"

Simmons felt his own face flush at Donut's forwardness. "That's not-"

"If you tell me 'that's not true', I will seriously beat you again!" Donut threatened as he tried to shove the tall redhead away from him. "I mean, it was bad enough in Blood Gulch, but now that we're _here_-"

"Well, what do you want me to do about it!" Simmons demanded, pushing Donut back down again to avoid another barrage of slaps. "You're right, okay? I've wanted it for so long, but now that I can finally do something about it, I have no idea what the fuck I'm doing!"

Donut dropped his hands from Simmons' shoulders with another, more irritated puff of air. "Fine," he relented, his anger cooling quickly. "But we _will_ have to talk about it- Grif!"

Simmons pulled back and looked down at Donut in confusion. "I'm Simmons," he pointed out.

"No, dumbass!" Donut swatted at him until Simmons had moved far enough away to let him sit up on the couch. "Grif, wait!"

Simmons' blood turned to ice as he realized Donut was looking _past_ him and swung around just in time to see the orange back of Grif's favorite t-shirt disappear around the doorframe and into the hall. "Oh, shit."

"'Oh shit' is right!" Donut hissed as he unceremoniously shoved Simmons off the couch. "Go after him!"

"What, right now?" Simmons sounded panicked.

"You'd better," Donut emphasized with another hard shove. "This looked pretty bad, Simmons. Hurry!"

"What looked…" Simmons trailed off as he realized what Grif must have seen just a few seconds before: he'd had Donut pinned to the couch, both flushed and breathless (from anger, although that was difficult to tell from a distance) and talking about _sexual tension_ of all things. "Oh, _fuck_."

"Get going, you oblivious moron!" Donut kicked Simmons in the back of his legs to get him to move.

Simmons didn't need to be told again as he sprinted for the door.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: So...three parts, anyone?

Grif's inner monologue kind of took off on its own while I was trying to fix it, and instead of fighting it I just decided to split the last part and let this one have its day. Because that's how I roll. Not a lot of talking here, just Grif muttering to himself like a crazy person.

Disclaimer: I don't own RvB or any of it's characters.

* * *

Grif didn't know why he had done it. Why, out of all the times he had thought about it, _wanted_ to do it, he had chosen _that time _to make himself look like a complete idiot.

They had been sitting at the kitchen table, heads bent together to read over another robot manual Sarge had dug up and ordered them to study (Simmons was studying, Grif was wondering if he could sneak in another snack before bedtime), and actually quite relaxed given the material and close proximity.

After the first obligatory few minutes of grumbling, they had both settled in to get their order done and over with, gradually falling into a companionable working rhythm. It was a rare moment when Simmons wasn't being an anal retentive asshat and Grif wasn't egging him on like a jerk, and suddenly all of the feelings Grif had been harboring for his fellow soldier over the years wormed their way to the surface of his brain.

It had been a spur of the moment thing; not so much a decision as a reaction. When Simmons had asked Grif a question and raised his head to look at him, green eyes sparking in amusement over a joke they had just shared, Grif closed the few inches between them and pressed his lips to Simmons'.

The back of Grif's mind had enough time to register that Simmons had a faintly metallic taste, somewhat coupled with an after-flavor of coffee, before he pulled away again, completely in shock by what he had just done.

And Simmons…he just sat there, not moving, or saying anything or reacting in any way. Just sat and stared at Grif as though he was looking at some new and surprising species of alien, right there in the kitchen with him.

Finally, Grif couldn't take it anymore. With a muttered apology he had fled the kitchen as fast as he could, somehow making it to his room and locking the door as his brain spun around in his head at a million miles per hour.

"Fuck," he panted, flopping onto his bed to catch his breath. "_Fuck_. The fuck did I just do?"

He had screwed everything up in a major way, is what he had just done. Grif was pretty sure that if Simmons ever talked to him again after that, it would be nothing short of a miracle.

"Shit…Simmons…"

Grif had no idea how long he sat on the edge of his standard issue twin bed, staring unseeingly at the blank door in front of him. It could have been seconds, or minutes, or even days, he didn't know or care. All he could think about was how he had probably just lost the closest thing to a friend he'd had since being drafted into this damn army and shipped off to the other side of the galaxy.

"Great fucking job, Dex," Grif growled to himself. "Now what?"

He couldn't really pinpoint when this whole thing had started, when he had gone from being annoyed by Simmons' know-it-all attitude and obsessively ordered tendencies to being amused by it, then to almost _wanting_ it.

Simmons was a constant; when a new enemy would show up, or they were forced to work with the Blues, or had to hop from planet to planet chasing after moronic AI's and slightly cracked agents, Simmons was always there beside him. All Grif would have to do was turn to the side and see the visor of a maroon helmet looking back at him, and suddenly it didn't matter as much anymore that their entire world was just one big Freelancer playground. Whatever.

Then, when what had begun to tentatively blossom from an unlikely alliance into a somewhat-friendship became something more for him, Grif simply didn't know how to handle it. Since when had he found Simmons' laugh _sexy_, for crying out loud? And those nights inside the base, armor-less and relaxed in either the rec room or the kitchen, Grif hadn't been able to keep his eyes from the curve of light muscle just visible under a worn t-shirt, or the line of pale skin peeking out at its hem when Simmons would move a certain way. This led to a lot of late-night cold showers, and days of Grif denying that what he felt for his teammate had somehow moved past emotional connection and on to physical attraction.

_Fuck. My. Life._

Grif sighed and stood from the bed as slowly as he could manage. There was really no way around it, he realized. If he didn't want to lose whatever he had with Simmons right now, he was going to have to man up and talk to him. Somehow.

With a quickly steeled resolve, Grif walked out of his room and across the narrow hall to Simmons' door, rapping his knuckles against the metal and waiting. Nothing. Simmons wasn't in his room. Maybe he was still in the kitchen?

Grif made his way down the hall toward the front of the base, still thinking of what he could possibly say to Simmons to make this better, when he heard Donut's incoherent shrieking coming from the vicinity of their rec room. Interest piqued despite himself, Grif turned at the doorway of said room and wandered directly into a waking nightmare.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Yay, last part!

I've changed the rating to T, mostly for language, because I've also changed some of the content here. I was originally going for something a bit steamier, but these two decided to go all cute on me instead. Bastards.

Disclaimer: I don't own RvB

* * *

"Grif!"

Simmons reached the hall at the same moment Grif disappeared behind his bedroom door, the lock setting in with a soft hiss. His feet carried him to the barrier of their own accord and he stopped in front of it, placing the finger pads of his human hand against the cool metal.

"Grif?" he tried again. "Open the door, man."

"No," came the muffled reply.

Simmons took a deep breath to try calming his pounding heart. "Come on," he coaxed, sounding a lot braver than he felt. "We need to talk."

"No, we don't," Grif drawled. He was clearly standing just on the other side of the door, but was refusing to budge. "If you're having issues, go back to Donut."

"Grif, that wasn't what it looked like!" Simmons explained a little desperately. "That was…an argument, actually."

"Whatever, dude. I don't really care either way. Just go find something else to do, okay? Read a book, build a computer, whatever it is you nerds do in your spare time."

Grif sounded like he was trying to be casual, but Simmons caught the faint hitch in his voice and came to a decision in the next instant.

"Look, you either open this door right now, or I'll tear it down," he threatened, tapping the knuckles of his cyborg hand against the metal for emphasis. "You know I can do it, too."

There was a loud sigh from the other side of the door, followed by a bit of shuffling, and a moment later the metal slid away to reveal Grif, standing with one hand on the keypad and glaring at Simmons.

"What do you want?" he demanded.

Simmons stepped into the room before Grif could change his mind, watching in concern as the orange soldier back-pedaled toward the unmade bed. "I just want to talk," he said in what he hoped was a comforting tone. "That's all."

Grif held the glare for another few seconds before sighing again and dropping his gaze to the floor. He looked…hurt, surprisingly, and Simmons began to realize that maybe Donut was right. Maybe that kiss in the kitchen hadn't been 'nothing' after all.

The thought made him acutely nervous, and more than a little hopeful. If it wasn't just a random incident stemming from not having any kind of physical contact for so long (they had been stuck in this army for _years_), he had to know.

"Back there," Simmons started, swallowing past the lump in his throat and trying to control his shaking human hand. "Why…uhm, why did you…do that?"

Grif didn't answer right away, fingers clenching and unclenching nervously at his sides. Finally, he took a deep breath. "I don't know," he intoned quietly, still looking away from Simmons. "I don't know what came over me. Sorry, it wont happen again."

Simmons felt a crushing wave of disappointment hit him at Grif's words and he took a small step away from him. "Oh."

He couldn't make himself leave though, found his gaze glued to Grif's unmoving figure as they both stood silently in the small room. The other soldier was still standing beside his bed, eyes averted and hands balled tightly despite the fact that he seemed to be trying to remain calm. Simmons' own eyes roved over him, taking in Grif's bare feet, the loose-fitted dark sweatpants and worn t-shirt, his tense shoulders and up to his messy, golden-brown hair. Simmons had the brief realization that he had never seen anyone look so perfect.

The next words were out of the maroon soldier's mouth before he could stop them. "Are you sure?"

Grif's response was a little slow, but after a moment his head shot up, caramel-colored eyes widened in surprise. "What?"

With such an intense gaze focused directly on him, Simmons was finding it very difficult to breath. "Well, what I mean is-"

"Are you making fun of me?"

Simmons stopped short in shock as the real reason behind that look hit him like an iron glove; Grif was angry. "What-no!" he raised both hands in front of him, a gesture of surrender. "I'm not-!"

"Goddamit Simmons, I know you're an asshole but _of all the times-_!"

"Grif!" Simmons pleaded. "I'm _not-_!"

"Sure, you can make fun of me for being lazy," Grif ranted on, ignoring Simmons' flustered gesturing. "Or for eating too much, or for Sarge hating me, but _why the fuck would you throw something like _this_ in my face?_ I thought we were at least on the same side here-!"

"Grif, would you just _shut up_?" Simmons' fragile control finally snapped and he let go of every past insecurity he had ever felt, everything that told him _no one _would ever want him in any way, and latched on to Grif instead. He yanked the stubborn man against him and leaned in to crash their lips together, hard enough to bruise but he didn't care.

Grif was angry, but that was a good thing. It meant he actually felt something behind that languid yet insolent exterior, something besides hunger and a contempt for their daily dilemma, and Simmons couldn't help but feel relieved by it.

Grif was frozen in shock by the sudden contact, but Simmons wasn't about to let go just yet, not after so long. His cyborg hand clamped down on the orange soldier's shoulder as his warm, flesh and blood hand moved to the back of Grif's neck, fingers running through soft strands of hair.

After a moment, Simmons pulled back just far enough to see Grif's face, although Grif had yet to move at all.

"You're right," Simmons all but whispered. "I'm an asshole. But I'm definitely not making fun of you. This time," he added with a half-smile.

He watched Grif's face nervously as several different emotions flitted across his tanned features, one after another; annoyance, confusion, denial, more confusion, tentative hope, then a kind of dawning realization. Simmons gave a low grunt of surprise when Grif raised both hands to his sides and tugged him close again, lips slightly parted when the Hawaiian man leaned up to kiss him.

The moment their mouths touched again, everything changed.

Within seconds, Grif had Simmons pinned to the wall beside the door, his hands running over the lithe frame in front of him, their tongues stroking against each other. Simmons moaned quietly when one of Grif's hands found its way under his shirt and he pulled the other man even closer, feeling exactly how much Grif was enjoying this when their hips pressed together.

"You know, as much as I am _really_ liking the view, I would suggest you two at least close the door."

Simmons pulled away and looked over in surprise to see Donut standing in Grif's room, watching them both with a perverted smirk. "Donut!" he yelped. "What are you doing?"

"Get out!" Grif ordered, letting go of Simmons just long enough to reach over and shove the cackling blonde through the door before hitting the keypad to close and lock it behind him.

Simmons groaned and leaned down to rest his forehead against Grif's shoulder. "Dammit."

"Ignore him," Grif said, taking his own advice and pressing his lips to Simmons' neck, following this with quick licks against the other man's pale skin.

Simmons groaned again, this time with a jolt of pleasure, and pulled his head back to resume their previous activities. "You know," he said when they momentarily parted for air, "Sarge is going to be out on patrol for the rest of the night."

Grif grinned against Simmons' mouth and began tugging him toward the bed. "Hit the light."

Simmons readily complied.


End file.
